


Irina's Daughter

by Kantayra



Category: Alias
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-06-30
Updated: 2005-06-30
Packaged: 2017-10-19 03:05:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/196185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kantayra/pseuds/Kantayra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sark's POV in 'Rendezvous'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Irina's Daughter

**Author's Note:**

> This ficlet was written for deathisyourart.

Sark would like to think that, even if he hadn’t known she was Irina’s daughter, he would’ve still noticed there was something special about her, different from all the others.

It wasn’t her appearance which, while difficult to judge underneath that gaudy outfit and horrendous pink wig, didn’t seem overly attractive. Not that she was unattractive, but he wouldn’t call her pretty. Her body was hard, angular, almost uncomfortable looking, and the lines of her jaw and mouth were hardly beautiful. In the end, she was a rather ordinary looking woman. Nothing that would catch his interest in any other circumstance.

It wasn’t her performance, either. She was a competent singer, to be sure, but certainly not the best he’d heard. She was unpracticed and, while she threw herself into the act wholeheartedly, she still reeked of amateurism. Her voice too breathy, her beat slightly off, her body a bit too shy in one moment and too brazen in the next.

It wasn’t the lies she told. In this regard, he would agree that she was exceptional. She had slipped into her persona so tightly, it could almost be a second skin. Beside him, Khasinau smiled at the creature on stage, completely oblivious to the great fraud occurring before him. Sark was convinced that he would’ve known what she was, however, even if he hadn’t been told in advance. For, even as she let the role completely take hold of her body, in the depths of her eyes there was still that spark of keen intelligence, looking out at the world and assessing her next move. She was so very, very good. But even that wasn’t what stood out to him.

She slunk down off the stage, a sway to her hips as she made her way through the crowd. A part of it, he realized in that moment, was her power. She wasn’t perfect in appearance or timbre, but the magnetic force that she seemed to generate was enough that the men around her didn’t care. They were putty in her hands, tools to be used and discarded as she saw fit. And _that_ reminded him of her mother more than anything, excited him for the first time when it became clear that this woman was Irina’s daughter in every way.

Her eyes rested on him for a moment, and he allowed himself a second of pleasure, let her power wash over him and take him under. His eyelids fluttered shut with a deep breath as he felt himself her captive, before he opened them once more and prepared to regain control.

But, of course, ever Irina’s daughter, she was loath to give it back. She was making her way to him purposefully now, her eyes locked with his so intently that he could almost believe that he was her entire world.

But then he remembered that she was here entirely to bug Khasinau; he was merely a bit player to her.

The hint of a smile on her lips acknowledged this, even as she passed him. He had a split second’s regret that _he_ hadn’t been the object of this little sting before she touched him.

It was startling, electric, and left him almost breathless.

Her fingers slid confidently up his chest before caressing his cheek in an intimate gesture. He breathed in deep, almost dizzy with the power that crackled between them at her touch, and more than anything else in the world right then longed to see the expression in her eyes.

Because deep down inside he knew her then as he’d never known a woman before. She drew him, yes, but now he knew that what drew him wasn’t her body or her mind or even her power. What drew him was that spark within her that _enjoyed_ all this. That played the game with him. Teased him, taunted him, matched him. Seduced him more than he would ever willingly admit…

A final touch through his hair and she was gone, moving on to Khasinau, carrying on with her mission. Playful and serious all at once. He breathed in with the satisfaction of a man who’d finally met his mate.

Bug firmly planted without anyone’s notice, she returned to the stage, her expression sultry and elusive. He didn’t even bother to hide his smile as she finished her song. Their eyes met for a second, and his inclined his head ever so slightly, promise in his eyes that they would meet again and next time he’d prove to her the perfection of their match. Even Khasinau seemed stunned enough to comment on her presence, and he could do nothing more than laugh and agree.

Apparently, the world was coming to an end.

The infamous Mister Sark was smitten, and with a CIA agent no less.

Oh yes. She was most definitely Irina Derevko’s daughter.


End file.
